Strung (29 page)

I tense as the deep shudders of climax ripple through me, arching my back in ecstasy, my fingers pressing hard into his thigh.  My orgasm is not intense, but it goes on, and on and just when I
think, it is over, another wave undulates through my body and I feel him empty himself quietly.  Still spooning, Chayton still buried inside me, I drift off to sleep, marvelling that we do our best talking when we both say nothing at all.

Chapter 15

4th July

I
float around the mysterious office of Donavan's Pass aimlessly, lost in thought about this confusing man, who lives so many lives.  I had no idea this room would be so technologically endowed.  One wall contains a bank of monitors, currently dark and lifeless; I assume to watch the markets.  The large teak desk contains three more.  A small safe and three small filing cabinets are lined up along the wall under the monitors. 

I guess even when reclusive, a
businessman still needs to stay in touch with his business.  I eye the large French doors.  The view is the same as from the living room.  The glade is a carpet of wild flowers and long yellowing grass.  On the wall opposite the monitors, hangs a beautiful painting.  I don't recognise the artist.  It's a landscape, showing a village clinging precariously, almost tumbling down the steep side of a rugged mountain.  With a quick, unfocused glance, the grey and silver stonework of the buildings could easily be mistaken for a cascading waterfall, against the greens and browns of the mountain.  The colours are startling and vivid, and although the content of the painting is inanimate, the scene appears alive and fluid.  It's lovely. 

I bring myself to the real reason I noticed the painting.  It's not hanging quite straight on the wall, and I just can't resist.  It hangs just out of my reach but I spy a small
footstool, tucked into a corner, and carry it over to the mantel.  I move the painting a few millimetres and step down off the footstool, stepping back to check my adjustments.  I feel his gaze on me and glance over my shoulder.  Chayton is leaning against the doorframe, watching me in obvious amusement.

"Would you like a spirit-level to check it properly?"

"Oh, have you got one?  That would be handy."  I reply.

"I'm joking Acacia.  The painting is just fine," he grins.

"Oh."  I pout, slightly annoyed and embarrassed.  "Stop making fun of me."

"I'm sorry," he says ambling across the room to wrap his arms around me.  "You just make it so easy sometimes."  He smiles widely and I
cannot help but return his smile.

"So tell me," I start, desperate to move the conversation away from me.  "Who was Chayton Donavan, when he was growing up?"
  I watch as some unfathomable emotion flits across his face, and then like magic, his smile is back. 

"Well let's see if I remember this correctly
.  In the beginning I was a baby, I think, then a toddler, then a child, oh yes, and then teenager."  He is smirking at me now.

"Tell me.  I want to know," I whine playfully.

"I'll make you a deal."  He mutters, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I'll tell you a bit about me, if you surrender yourself to me completely this weekend."

"Excuse me?"  I gape at him.  I've successfully evolved from my 'gaping fish' imitation to 'dead fish'.

"Complete surrender."  His eyes darken and the emerald chips glow seductively in his eyes.

"The whole weekend?"  The words stick in my throat.

"Including Thursday and Friday."  His words are loaded with promise.  Of course!  Thursday is the Fourth of July holiday! 

"Twenty-four hours a day?"

"Twenty-four hours a day.  A whole ninety two hours."  He nods slowly, his gaze never leaving mine.

"And what does this surrender entail exactly?”  I ask breathless, from both fear and anticipation.

"We'll play it by ear.  Mostly, I want the weekend to be about trust.  I want you to trust me Acacia.  Let your hair down, and stop worrying, planning, fixing and assimilating.  I want you to let go.  Let me do the work for a few days, and trust that it will be alright."

I feel the cold fingers of panic scratching on my defences and stare at him in horror, taking a step back.  "I don't know."  I mutter. 

Shit.  Why is he doing this?  Doesn't he understand?  Has he not heard a word?  It will be like spending a weekend with Robert
!  I cannot afford to be that vulnerable again.  I mean, giving Chayton Carte Blanch in the Bedroom is one thing - that is his domain.  But with everything?

"It's only four days Acacia.  I'm not going to tell you what to eat or make you do anything you don't want to do."  He cups my face in his hands and tilts my head up.  "I promise.  Trust me.  Try."

"I...”  I shake my head trying to loosen the words, to get them out.

"This isn't about me trying to control you, Acacia.  This is about you taking a break. 
It is about you, allowing someone to look after you for change.  Just four days, and if it gets too much, we can cancel the deal."

I chew on my lip, the panic slowing coming under control.  Put like
that, it sounds reasonable, but my heart is still clasped in the last stubborn, icy tendrils of panic and I suck warm, calming air deep into my lungs.

"And you'll tell me everything I want to know?  We can cancel anytime?"  I stutter.  He nods sincerely.

"I'll try," I whimper.

"That's all I ask, Acacia."  He kisses me chastely.  "And seen as it is midnight, and officially the start of our long weekend..." he breaks off, releasing me at the same time and strolling over to the painting on the wall. 

He is tall enough and easily reaches a single finger to the bottom left hand corner of the painting giving it a small nudge and shifting it slightly out of place.

"...you are going to leave this painting, in all its crooked glory, until after the weekend."  He turns and grins at me like a Cheshire cat.

"Oh, Mr. Donavan!  I am a perfectionist; I do not have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  I think I can resist."  I flutter my lashes and squeeze all the honey I can muster into my voice in an attempt to avoid my own dark thoughts.

"Are you sure Ms. Ward?  Because I think I might suffer from OCD, and I know how hard it can be to resist."

"And what Compulsion pray, might you be Obsessive about, Mr. Donavan?"

"Well Ms. Ward, it appears that no matter where we are, or what time of the day it is, I have this overwhelming compulsion to remove all your clothes, and get very rude and dirty with you."  He licks his lips and leans casually against the mantle looking very fuckable and sexy.

"Hmm, is this so?"  I smile broadly.  "And tell me, Mr. Donavan, have you experienced this obsession with anyone else, or does this affliction only manifest itself, in the presence of present company?"  I start to pace slowly, running a finger across my lips, in feigned contemplation.

"Definitely only present company."

"Uh huh.  And this happens often?"

"Every.  Single.  Time."  He annunciates each word slowly.

"Describe your symptoms, if you resist this compulsion, Mr. Donavan."

"Well, my heart starts to race..." he slowly starts stalking toward me, "...my breathing becomes strained..."  I'm frozen to the spot now, unable to tear my eyes from his, and his words are like orders, my body obeying.

His darken as he talks.  "My fingertips start to tingle and want to reach out on their own accord.  My brain refuses to function correctly, every synapse screaming, the same thing, over and over...  'Kiss her."  And I get a very, very, deep ache – right here!"  He finally reaches me, and places a flat palm tenderly against my belly.

"You have it bad, Mr. Donavan," I manage, "Perhaps it would be unwise to ignore, or re
sist, such powerful compulsions – possibly even dangerous."

"Perhaps you are right, Ms Ward," he mutters against my lips, making me gasp as his arms sweep around me, pulling me close.

~.~

I stretch lazily, purring in contentment, as the last delicious threads of my dream, drift off into the recesses of my mind.  The rich scents of coffee, forest and summer
sun prickle my olfactory system, and the corners of my mouth curl up in response.  My eyes open to Chayton's dark, emerald flecked gaze, inches from my own.

"Good morning," Chayton murmurs softly. 
He is lying beside me, his head propped up on one hand.

"Good morning to you too," I whisper.

"You look mighty pleased this morning."  His eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Mighty pleased to see you!  Is that coffee I smell?"

"That depends."

"Oh?"

"Tell me what you were dreaming about," demands, grinning at me.

I feel the blush flood my face as my mind flits to the, already fading details, of a very erotic dream, and I pull the edge of the sheet from under my chin to cover my face.

"That good huh?" 

"It had its moments."  I giggle under the cover.

"Tell me," he urges.  His tone is a little less playful now and I pull the sheet down to my nose and study his face.  "Well?"  Both eyebrows curve up, crinkling his brow.

"Maybe later I'll show you," I whisper in embarrassment, and I'm rewarded with the gleam of his perfect white teeth. 

I drag myself up, sitting cross-legged, pulling the sheet with me.  Chayton sits and passes me a steaming mug from his bedside table.  He is dressed in just a pair of jeans and his toned muscles ripple as he moves.

I inhale the deep roast fragrance, and take a long sip, sighing in appreciation.  "You make an excellent cup of coffee, Mr. Donavan, yet another of your many extraordinary talents."

"Well," he takes the mug from me, putting back on the table.  Placing a hand on either side of my hips, he twists his body smoothly to kneel on the bed in front of my crossed legs.  "I have heard many things about these apparent talents of mine..."  He runs his mouth smoothly across my forehead and follows my hairline down to my ear.  "...but I am not entirely convinced.  Perhaps we need to explore them some more." 

Desire flames up from the
smouldering embers, still remnant from my dream.  My arms snake around his neck, releasing the sheet, and my body follows his as he rears up onto his knees.  His teeth tug and nibble at my earlobe as we shift, until we are both kneeling, our bodies melding, and his jeans rough against my naked thighs. 

He cups the back of my head with one hand and my bare behind in the other, holding me close.  I feel his growing erection straining against his fly, and pressing into the soft of my belly.  I groan and weave my fingers through his thick, silky hair.

"You are incredibly beautiful," he whispers as his lips move slowly down my neck, his hand gently tugging my hair, so that my head falls back, giving him better access.  "And you smell heavenly."

My hips flex in response and he groans loudly as he releases my hair and grabs my ass firmly with both hands, lifting me.  "Wrap your legs around me," he rasps.  I obey instantly and he settles back on his heels. 

"Oh!”  I gasp as his prominent fly makes direct and exquisite contact with my damp and begging sex.  His mouth finds mine, and his teeth tug at my bottom lip, as he flexes his hips, his fly creating salacious friction, fanning the flames into a burning frenzy.

"Please!
”  I beg, locking my mouth onto his in a bruising assault.

With his tongue invading my mouth, he lifts me with one strong arm, breaking the contact below
.  I hear and feel him fumble with his zipper. 

"Ah.  Yes!"  I hiss against his mouth as he slowly impales me, filling me deeply, expertly, heavenly. 

~.~

I am
spread eagled, face down on the bed, trying to remember who, what, when, where, how and why - my wits totally scrambled.  Chayton swats me hard on my bare behind. 

"Ow!"

"Up you get.  I have plans for you today," he orders as he nuzzles my ear.

"Later," I mumble into a pillow.

I feel his grin against my cheek as he pecks me chastely.  "Come on, or we'll be late." 

I role over and watch him dress.  Nicely fitted
Kelvin’s, faded blue jeans, fitted black t-shirt.  His hair is a glorious mess and I notice for the first time that he has already shaved.  I wonder how long he's been awake.  I glance at the bedside clock.  Twelve thirty!  I have
never
slept this late! 

"Why didn't you wake me sooner?"  I cry, bolting upright.

Chayton sits down on the bed.  "I couldn't.  You looked so peaceful and relaxed.  Until you started dreaming," he says cryptically, "besides I had a bit of work to do and you would have been bored.  But up now please.  We leave in half an hour." He pauses a second then almost coldly says, “but first answer a few questions for me.”

“Okay.”  I furrow my brow, wondering what he could possibly want to know and furrow it even further when puts some space between us, brushing his hair back with his fingers.

“The clothes I bought you, the ones you put up such a fuss about - you could easily have bought those items yourself.” 

“Perhaps.”  I say very slowly.  Where is this coming from and where is it going?

“I’ve just had a very interesting conversation with Barry Willow.”

“Gringott
’s Willow?”